


Stupid Girl

by she_who_dares



Series: Miz Crooke [2]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-03-29 22:50:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19029553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/she_who_dares/pseuds/she_who_dares
Summary: The queens are on tour in Europe, with no ex-boyfriends in sight. Brooke Lynn is frustrated, and a pissed off (and somewhat mischievous) Cracker decides to have her fun. For Vanjie's sake, of course...





	1. Backstage

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the ArtificialQueens rare pair fic challenge. The songs are 'Stupid Girl' by Jazmine Sullivan and 'Disturbia' by Rihanna. Huge thanks to Saiph for beta reading and helping me organise my thoughts. It's been 13+ years since I last wrote anything, so let's see how it goes...

_ I’m a fool and he loves it, he knows he’s got me wrapped around his fingers with a glance _

 

The song’s rhythmic line pulsated behind her as she moved, her hands pushing the air one way as her hips swayed in the opposite direction. She bounced with every short, sharp burst of the lyrics and her face clowned around to match - tossing her long, dark hair from side to side, almost skipping from one side of the stage to the other. When she got to the chorus, the almost manic look in her eyes as she cut loose and went wild were really something to watch - Miz Cracker cutting loose on a live stage as she’d never really felt able to do over a year before, on a soundstage somewhere in LA, never quite feeling like she fit in.

 

There was a real power to this, she thought. Her eyes moved across the crowd, making eye contact with as many of the fans as possible - winking at one, practically eye-fucking a particularly cute one as she hit the stage in a split, grinding towards the floor. Being on TV meant you had the restrictive nature of playing by the rules, but going out on tour was a completely different freedom where the only rules were your own - and with every line of the song, with every extra push of energy, she felt like she was flying. The queens were a long way from their home turf - the tour having been in the UK for three days now - but Cracker had always felt at home in London, a place where the infamous ‘Jewish Barbie on Bath Salts’ thing she did was not only enjoyed and encouraged, but goddamn  _ celebrated _ . 

 

As she bounded across the stage, the song working towards its climax, she span on one foot and caught sight of someone waiting in the wings, the next queen to come on stage.  _ Her _ . The one for whom the very sight of her had pissed her off from the moment they’d all gathered together for rehearsals in New York. The one who’d hurt her friend. Not only hurt her friend, actually, but who hadn’t had the good grace to act sorrier about it on national television, humiliating her still further. What was it she’d said? Some shit about not being able to flirt with someone else, find them attractive… 

 

Vanjie had been right. Instead of someone being willing to write the story of their relationship together, she’d ended up with someone who’d shoved a post-it note at her and ran. 

 

For Cracker herself, there were too many poor memories of her own entangled with her Season 10 sister’s, at least where relationships and Drag Race were concerned. The act of talking about her ‘wonderful man’ only to be dumped days before the finale taping was a slap to the face that still burned hot on her skin. It was an anger, a rage, that fuelled everything she did around the taller, more elegant queen.  _ Fucking Brooke Lynn Hytes. _

 

It was that anger combined with the exhilaration flowing through her veins that spurred her on, her energy taking her higher and higher. Flinging her smaller body into a death drop, the crowd roared and she smirked as her body rose again, her back arched as she caught the Canadian’s eye from sideways on.  _ Screw it _ , she thought.  _ Let’s give the bitch an even harder time… _

 

Purposefully repeating the behaviour she’d been showing all night to her chosen prey, Cracker sat up and began to roll her hips up and down in slow, deliberate time with the song’s beats. Hytes didn’t know she knew, but the shorter queen had noticed the debilitating effect she’d been having on her rival since their evening had begun, exhibitionist at every opportunity.

 

Of course, at the time it hadn’t occurred to her that this may have had quite the sexual effect she intended now - better late than never - but from the moment she’d set foot in the small dressing area backstage at the theatre, she’d wanted to make her presence felt, stamping all over the place that was home from home and remind these bitches who was in charge. With the movements getting slower, deeper, more suggestive, Cracker lifted a hand and drew it over her mouth, sucking the very tip of her finger… then turning her head, looking the stone-faced, perfectly poised queen directly in the eye. She could see her, the audience couldn’t, but the rapturous applause as the song ended didn’t stop the feeling of nervous excitement flutter in her abdomen. 

 

As she trailed the hand over her chest, swung her legs round and hopped up onto her feet, she knew that the time of her life she was having was not just for the roar of the crowd, but for the thorough tormenting she’d been giving Brooke Lynn.  _ Well now. _ That was a realisation she hadn’t been expecting to have. A bow, kisses blown to the crowd, and she was gone - all the while feeling the stare of another queen almost burning holes in her back.

 

_ Ain’t gon’ play it nice - watch out, you might just go under _

 

Brooke had spent the whole of Cracker’s performance backstage, arms folded and unblinking gaze following the energetic New Yorker around the stage. Her own muscles were taut and tense as she mentally prepared for her own performance, going over moves and floor placement in her head, toes flexing in her pointe shoes. If she was honest with herself, though, she would admit that there was more to this tension than her place in the running order; the absence of one Ms Mateo being a big part of it. Her ex, though invited on the tour, had pulled out due to other commitments, and Brooke was more than missing the presence of someone with whom there was potential for relief from sexual frustration. To make matters worse, one of Vanjie’s closest friends was there, seemingly determined to cause even more of it.  _ Fuck. My. Life _ . 

 

Unable to take her eyes off the smaller queen as she threw herself around on stage, Brooke ground her teeth without realising, trying as much as possible to maintain her composure. It had already taken most of her self restraint keeping her hands to herself all day, especially when Cracker had spent most of it trying to… ugh. What game she was playing here, Brooke wasn’t actually sure. The only thing she did know was that the sight of the swaying hips, the purr of her suggestive moans, and  _ \- Jesus Christ, does she have to suck her fingers like that looking right at me? -  _ well, the game had been well and truly won. Brooke was done for. 

 

Never let it be said, though, that Brooke Lynn Hytes was anything less than a professional. Even the audience members closest to the front would not have been able to detect a glimmer of distraction behind the blonde’s eyes as she turned gracefully across the wooden boards of the stage, her long legs taking powerful strides across the floor, every glance she made authoritative and strong.  _ This was more like it _ , she thought. Back in control, the crowd gasping and cheering with every movement, the merest hint of a smile now tugged at the corners of her mouth. To her surprise, though, as she made her final turn she caught a glimpse of a petite brunette clad in green, the quickest peek being made through the side curtains before disappearing in a flash of fabric. Though the look on her face was taken for a celebratory grin at the end of her performance, the cheering fans weren’t to know what thoughts were actually running through the queen’s mind… and their roars followed her off after one final bow, pushing her onward as she stalked towards prey of her own.

 

It didn’t take her long to find the person she was looking for, noticing Cracker in the corner of the dressing room, pretending to be engrossed in something on her phone. Crossing the room in a few quick strides, thankful that the rest of the girls were waiting around in the corridor ahead of the finale, Brooke wrapped her long fingers around the device, snatching it out of Cracker’s grasp and placing it on a nearby chair. Never taking her own eyes off the shorter queen’s, Brooke played the height advantage for all it was worth, sliding her knee between her target’s thighs and lifting her leg to keep her pinned  _ exactly _ where she wanted her. Her left hand on Cracker’s waist, right hand wrapped tight in her hair, Brooke pulled her head sharply to one side. Tilting her face down so her lips brushed against the other girl’s ear, the whisper was barely audible but enough to make being tucked distinctly uncomfortable.

 

‘Don’t start things you can’t finish, bitch.’

 

An impish smile delicately spread across Cracker’s girlishly painted features. This frustrated, unruly Brooke Lynn was just what she’d been going for.

 


	2. The Bus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The show is over and the queens are on the move - but after the backstage encounter, what happens next?

_ It’s a thief in the night to come and grab you - it can creep up inside you and consume you _

  
  


Later that evening, layer after layer of what made the queens into their stage personas was gradually stripped away. First went the makeup, discarded into bins after faces were scrubbed hard with wipes. Then came the costumes, piece by piece, some of the girls hanging them neatly on hangers while others threw clothes haphazardly into cases, vowing to deal with them later after sleep. The last step was to remove their actual selves from the dressing rooms, gear already loaded beneath the bus, with the final action being to haul their tired bodies up the steps and towards their assigned bunks.

  
  


For Cracker and Brooke, the difference an hour had made was not purely physical. De-dragging had been a process of mentally gathering themselves, yes, while the other girls were around. However, the discomfort between them, the tension that had begun to build from the moment both of them were offstage, had not yet dissipated, the arousal both queens had been feeling still lingering, each the cause of a tight knot, twisting and pulling at the other’s insides. 

  
  


An hour or so after the show’s end, queens stripped away and men standing there in the cold as they waited to get on the bus, the taste of the vodka he’d been drinking burned the back of Cracker’s throat. He wasn’t drunk, not yet, but the irony of needing some Dutch courage after being the one to instigate things, the cat and mouse-like dance in this chase for power between them, was not lost upon him. He felt almost naked in the London night air, swamped as he was in an over-sized hoodie, and only partially because of the way Brooke was now staring, head turned before stepping up and away, the two of them the last ones to board. 

  
  


Queens exhaustedly wished each other goodnight. Some went straight to bed, carefully folding tired limbs into cramped bunks, others lingered in the small area in back with couches and the TV, waiting for the adrenaline from the show to wear off. Seated next to each other - which somehow felt dangerous in this public gathering, now - Cracker and Brooke watched one by one as the rest filtered off, each one closer to leaving them alone, each one departing as the two of them subconsciously shuffled closer together. 

  
  


Cracker was unhelpfully reminded of the physical contact from earlier, where despite being pinned against the wall in a show of force, the dominance Brooke Lynn had used against him was weirdly supportive. Every second they’d been there, him being held up by the taller man’s thigh - and  _ damn _ if that hadn’t done things to him - he’d felt as though he could relax, physically trusting the other queen to keep him safe and emotionally letting this thoughts wander to things that might come later.

 

Except, ‘later’ was now ‘now’, and as the minutes loudly ticked by on the communal area clock, Cracker felt Brooke’s façade gradually start to crumble. The ice queen, who’d placed a hand on his knee while Asia fell asleep with her head on an also dozing Kameron’s shoulder, was now rubbing the inside of his thigh with his thumb, working his way higher and higher. Cracker turned his head back towards Brooke, meeting his eyes properly for the first time, and was about to say something when Asia awoke, her eyes opening with a snort of breath. He felt the Canadian subtly and silently withdraw his hand, and tried to ignore the almost lonely feeling that gave him while he said goodnight to his Season 10 sisters, who slunk haltingly to their respective beds without a backwards glance.

  
  


And then they were alone.

  
  


All it took was for Cracker’s eyes to linger ever so slightly too long on Brooke’s lips. In the milisecond it took for him to contemplate just how damn good they’d looked in the purple he’d worn tonight, Brooke had rotated his hips and was ready to pounce. No longer mauve, the taller queen’s lips were on his own, and he found himself being straddled atop the thin cushions of the tour bus sofa with zero way out but the word no.  To his realisation, Cracker realised there was no way he ever would have said it. This - whatever this was that was happening now - was merely the near-conclusion of the battle for control that had been going on all evening. 

  
  


It may have been Brooke Lynn who had made the first move tonight - not once, but twice, really - but it was Cracker who now deepened the embrace, wrapping both hands around the blond’s head, fingers sliding into his hair for a stronger grip.  _ Oh god _ . He felt his knees wobble under Brooke’s weight and thanked heaven he was sitting down, trying his best to concentrate on every tiny sensation he was feeling, because who knew if he’d ever feel them again? The first realisation which came to him as Brooke Lynn’s own hands were running down his sides, was that the other queen’s mouth had the faint taste of cigarettes and tequila. Hadn’t he given both of those up? Was this slip into one old habit a sign he was willingly choosing another - more men? Or were they both a symptom of something else, a greater problem going through the younger man’s mind?

  
  


“You’re overthinking… stop.”

  
  


Brooke’s words - the breathiest of whispers ghosting against the skin of his ear - caused his breath to hitch and his heart to stop, or at least, that was what it felt like. A tiny, barely visible smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he wondered how the other queen knew. Apparently, the stone cold bitch really did have emotional awareness, and he would end up finding just how much sooner or later. The retort came just as quietly, and with it, a slight chuckle from both of them.

 

“Hypocrite.”

  
  


Brooke grinned back, lifting his hips so the pressure was no longer on Cracker’s legs, but he was certainly feeling tension elsewhere in his body. It seemed, though, that Brooke Lynn was smooth in  _ this _ type of performance too, as he wordlessly climbed off the couch and began to kneel on the floor, palming the smaller man’s crotch. Cracker didn’t even have the slightest moment to miss the weight of his - lover? Partner? Neither of those things quite yet - before he was being bossed around again. Not that he was complaining about  _ that _ , either.

  
  


“Stay quiet, yeah?” Brooke mouthed, before reaching to the waistband of his fellow queen’s jogging pants.

  
  


All Cracker could do in response was gulp.

  
  


_ And we never have a clue, we never see it coming - train wreck headed for us, but we never think of running _

  
  


The tang of their sweat after performing was now combined with the sweat from another kind of exertion - coming from the effort of keeping quiet as well as from the more pleasurable aspects of their late night. Cracker, focused as he was on the fact that  _ Brooke Lynn Hytes _ of all people was now on his knees for him, strong dancer’s arms keeping his legs apart while his mouth - and oh god, what a talented mouth that was - expertly built him up into a frenzy. 

  
  


The only lights they had now were the occasional street light and neon signs as the bus headed onto the motorway, now thankfully on a straight road so that Brooke could concentrate on the task in hand, rather than pausing every few seconds to avoid choking himself or hurting Cracker when the bus turned or shook over a bumpy patch. The outside lights meant that they only got rare glimpses of each other as they sped by, the rest of their encounter in the dark, cloaked by shadows. 

  
  


It was a real metaphor for what they were doing, actually, each act accompanied by a quiet sigh as the two men attempted to hide their desire from their tourmates. Soft moans. Gentle breaths. Only a meagre glance at the other’s face. Darting movements in the corner of an eye, swiftly realising it was only a fleeting reflection in glass.

  
  


Brooke trailed his fingertips over the bare skin of Cracker’s thighs as he continued, almost grinning to himself as he heard the couch shift and creak underneath him, the featherlight touches clearly getting the response he was hoping for. However, as much as he enjoyed knowing that he could reduce his lover to putty without even pulling out his best moves, there was still the risk of them being caught. Shooting Cracker a warning glance that he hoped he could see, he gave the older man a squeeze around his thighs, bringing him back into that submissive place that he was growing rather enamoured with.

  
  


It didn’t take much longer to get them both to breaking point, Cracker coming undone with a strangled moan hidden behind a cushion he’d somehow acquired mid blowjob, the only way he could actually keep quiet during Brooke’s ministrations. Brooke himself followed shortly afterwards, taking care of his own arousal after Cracker’s, slumping forward onto the latter’s legs with a contended groan. 

  
  


Minutes later, with the pair of them cleaned up and now sitting back on the couch sofa, they found themselves sitting together in a position that suddenly felt far more intimate than either of them could have imagined that morning. Leaning back into the corner of the couch, with Cracker curled across his midsection to account for the difference in height, Brooke Lynn reached down and idly stroked the New Yorker’s cheek with the back of his hand. In response, Cracker tilted his face, kissing the back of the Canadian’s fingers before making his own reach, lacing them with his own. They lay there like that in companionable silence, still driving, nonchalantly gazing out of the window as Britain passed by in the night.

  
  


This thing - whatever it was, whatever they were - had been, at the very least, a satisfying diversion from their other shit they had going on. Somehow, though, it didn’t feel like an ending. 

  
  


More like a beginning.


End file.
